


a kind word and a gun

by ohsusie



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: And Even and Jonas love him, Isak's just the prettiest boy in the world, It barely has a plot either, M/M, Mafia AU, One Shot, Prostitution, Slight feminization, boys in lingerie, it's not v angsty though, no real plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsusie/pseuds/ohsusie
Summary: His fingers are cut open, dried blood covering his palm, and Even wants to wrap them all in bandage and kiss them until they're better again.He wonders if Isak's thighs still are bruised, if his stretchmarks are concealed by blue and purple and green. Slowly, he reaches out a hand to touch him, see if Isak flinches more than usual, but he doesn't react at all, except for a small whimper.





	a kind word and a gun

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to post something man

Their bed always smells like strangers. It's coffee and liquor and expensive cologne. Isak never smells like himself, either. He doesn't smell like vanilla and cinnmon, but cigarettes and sweat and sex. It's not his decision to make, though, and Even doesn't have a say in it either. It's the Don who thinks he's pretty enough to make money for them. It's the Don who takes care of him and Isak needs to pay him back. So does Even, just in a different way. Jonas smells more like Isak than Isak does, but Even knows it's because he always wears his old clothes, the red sweaters and baby blue pyjamas. 

It's two in the morning when Isak comes home this time. His hair's wet, sticking to his red cheeks, but Even doesn't think twice about it because he can see the rain from their little window at the top of the wall, can see the tiny drops bounce off the grey cobblestones. 

Isak lies down face first next to him, cold face pressed against the worn out blanket. It's at least four years old and the Don would replace it if they asked him to, but it's something about it that makes it special. It's the blanket Even fell asleep with after the first time he felt the counterforce of the Glock in his hand, the blanket he wrapped his nephew in when his brother died, the blanket Isak held onto the first time they slept with each other. 

His fingers are cut open, dried blood covering his palm, and Even wants to wrap them all in bandage and kiss them until they're better again. He wonders if Isak's thighs still are bruised, if his stretchmarks are concealed by blue and purple and green. Slowly, he reaches out a hand to touch him, see if Isak flinches more than usual, but he doesn't react at all, except for a small whimper. 

Their room isn't sound isolated and both of them know that, but Even figures that maybe the Don and the Capo won't hear them if they're busy yelling at each other over poker. They didn't hear Isak throwing chairs against the wall two weeks ago, after Jonas didn't come home one night. Or maybe they just didn't feel like doing anything about it.

Sometimes, he wishes he could take Isak away from it all. Save him, somehow. The logical part of his brain knows he can't, though, because the Don has men everywhere, every restaurant, every bar, every grocery store. Every city and country. They're safer here, how strange it may sound, in their quarters, where no one will bother them. 

Even turns to look at Isak, his darling, his heart, and he's already looking back at him. His cheek is smushed against the bed, the blanket now covering his upper body instead of lying underneath him. His green eyes are rimmed with red, like he's been crying for an hour, but Even knows it's because of not sleeping.

"Why are you thinking so much?" Isak asks, stroking Even's cheek so gently, his fingers just brushing over his skin. "Is everything okay?"

"Your clothes are wet," Even mumbles and pulls at the hem of Isak's black dress shirt. "Go change."

"Sorry."

Isak kisses Even's forehead and then gets up from the bed again, walking to the wardrobe and mirror to get undressed, and Even doesn't want to watch because he knows Isak's had enough of watching eyes for the night, but he can't help it.

He can't possibly tear his eyes from Isak's hands pulling his shirt over his head, revealing a back full of scratches and stretchmarks, just like his thighs. His baby grew so fast when he was sixteen and his skin just couldn't keep up with his body, and Even loves it. He loves tracing the lightning bolts with his nails, loves licking and kissing them until Isak's a quivering mess underneath him. 

"I can feel you staring," Isak states, running a hand through his hair while watching Even through the mirror with a small smile on his face. "I'm pretty today, huh?"

"Always so pretty, baby."

"Sebastian said so too, today." Even knows he's just teasing, he just wants to make him a little jealous, but it literally feels like a stab in his stomach because Sebastian is a client and he doesn't want to be compared to him like that. "He said I can make them pay even more."

Even sighs and gets up from the bed as well, moving to stand behind Isak and wrap his arms around his waist. They look good together, Even's one hundred percent sure of it as he sees himself and Isak in the mirror in front of them. His hands are so big on Isak's stomach, and he could probably circle his entire thighs with his thumb and index finger. Their eyes are pretty next to each other, too, like a green ocean and a blue sky. They're beautiful, have been since they were children. But Isak's always been the more beautiful one. 

"Take these off," Even whispers, feeling the ugly jealousy clouding his mind as he unbuttons Isak's soaked jeans. "Baby."

As always, Isak's wearing the lingerie Jonas bought for him. This night, it's the black lace panties that make his little butt look so cute and make him look better than the models on the huge billboards. He's the prettiest boy Even's ever seen, prettier than all the girls and all the guys in the entire world. 

His hips look so bad, though. They're purple, completely covered in bruises, and Even would do anything for everything to get better for him. He'd go against every powerful person in the country, kill them one after one execution-style, if it meant Isak wouldn't have to hurt as much. 

Even blames himself every single second he spends awake. He knows he brought Isak into this world, knows they wouldn't be here if he hadn't asked Isak to marry him. They wouldn't have had to leave their city and they wouldn't have been homeless, ready for the Don to take them under his wings and promise them safety as long as they do what he says. 

"Even," Isak murmurs and turns around to bury his face in the crook of Even's neck. "Why are you so tense? I'm right here. I'm yours."

"I hate knowing how people touch you. How you're terrified of saying no."

Isak sighs and lifts his head to look up at Even with these shiny, bright eyes and god, he's under Even's skin. All his pain and hurt and tiredness is right there and Even feels it too. He wishes he could hold Isak closer to his chest, promise him he won't have to do anything against his will ever again, promise him that he and Jonas can do everything and Isak will be able to finally rest. 

"I'm not made of glass."

And Even knows that. He knows Isak is stronger than most people, knows he can take most things life throws at him because he's so brave and he's made of mended broken hearts and stitches and soft-spoken, sharp words. Isak's stronger than Even. He's stronger than Jonas, too. It's obvious when he refuses to cry, even after being hurt, and it's even more obvious when he tells him that no, he can get rid of that guy for him, _you can stay in bed, baby, give me your gun_. Even when he cries,he's stronger than most people, because there's always a thousand reasons behind his tears, when other people would cry just from one of those reasons.

"You're bulletproof, huh?"

When Isak doesn't answer, Even pulls him back to the bed, keeping him in his arms as they lie down next to each other, like they always do before sleeping. It's something he likes to hide, but Isak can't sleep when he's alone. He stays awake until someone comes home, whether it be Jonas or Even. It doesn't matter who it is, as long as someone is there to hold him and stroke his hair and tell him how beautiful he is. 

He's the softest boy Even knows. His right leg is thrown over Even's waist and his fingers are running through his hair, like he wants to be as close as possible. Like he's afraid they'll be pulled apart at any second and he needs to have this one last moment to themselves. 

And Even prays, he prays the Don won't come into their room and ask Isak to come with him, _sit on my lap, baby boy_ , and he prays Jonas will come home tonight, sober and with no signs of crying. He always has to take care of the younger ones, the snitches, and Even knows he hates it. He knows he's repressed every shot he's taken against them, acting like it's never happened. 

Their door creaks open, sounding throughout their room, and then Jonas is there, leaning against the doorway. Speaking of the devil. His neck is stained with blood and so is his white dress shirt, but it doesn't seem to bother him because he's smiling, looking so relaxed with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. 

"Beautiful," he murmurs to himself, shaking his head before walking up to the bed, kneeling on the mattress, right inbetween them. "My pretty boys."

A small whimper comes out of Isak, choked off and high-pitched, and Jonas seems to hear it because he's cooing at him and softly pushing his thighs apart from each other, so he can fit right there. Close to Isak, close to his heart so he knows he's safe. 

"Spread your legs, baby." And he's so gentle and quiet, Isak doesn't even flinch, but lets him open them in silent agreement, just lying there with awe in his eyes and a hand still in Even's hair. "So beautiful today. Don't know what it is."

They fit just as well as Isak and Even does. Jonas is a bit shorter, more compact in every way, and he looks so tough compared to Isak. It's ironic, but that's the way it is, and he's the one who likes to take charge, anyways. He's the one who pushes Isak to the bed, only to just lie on top of him and mumble about how tired he is, how much he's missed the two of them. 

Even wants to let them have this, wants to put both of them to bed right now so they can cuddle until they fall asleep because God knows both of them need it, but Jonas is dirty with a stranger's blood and the Don gave them new sheets just two days ago. He opts for just unbuttoning his shirt and helping him take it off and Jonas just lets him because all he wants to do is feel Isak's lace panties under his fingers. 

Afterwards, he washes his neck and chest with a wet, rough washcloth, making the sensitive skin turn pink and irritated. Isak's there, though, kissing it better, tiny kitten licks where it's the worst, and Even's heart is so warm. Because he knows it won't get better than this.

It's still raining outside, heavy drops hitting the ground, and Even doesn't fall asleep easily, but the warmth radiating from his two boys paired with the sound of rain splattering everywhere makes everything go a little bit slower. 

Isak's hair is all up in his nose, making everything smell like coconut, and suddenly, Jonas is behind him with his stupid octopus arms, completely enveloping him with them, and everything's safe. Everything feels okay and Jonas's hands are all warm and dry through his shirt and he knows he'll sleep well tonight. 

"My babies," Jonas whispers, even if it's ridiculous because both of them are older than him. "My sleepy babies."

"Tell us a bedtime story," Isak mumbles against Even's collarbone, because that's pretty much Jonas's job nowadays. Telling them bedtime stories until they're lulled to sleep. "The one about Chile."

So Jonas tells them about the blue sea with the red fish and he tells them about the mountains, the ones that are higher than the ones in Norway, and about the people who lived in the invincible village, and his voice is always as smooth as silk. It rumbles against Even's back and vibrates in his chest and sleep is so close to overtake him when the door creaks open again, this time paired with heavy footsteps. 

Then, the mop of blond hair in front of him is gone, and he's only getting warmth from one side of the bed. 

_Sit on my lap, baby boy._

It won't get any better.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading this lil thing, i appreciate it sm and if u feel like it, please leave comments and kudos bc it makes me so so happy to wake up to y'all don't even know!! <3<3


End file.
